This Poem received a lot of positive feedback so Thank you for all the likes and comments ..I’m feeling the love
From One Artist to Another thank you all ,blogging World means so much…
For https://mutafariqkhayalat.wordpress.com/ who invited me to do this .I’m not good at these kinds of things such as:links and tech savvy stuff.. Thank you
When I grow up I’ll fly…
with silver cufflinks
chained to the free
engaged for their own sacred prosperity.
When I grow up no need for money man against man
One toward the penny the other toward the land
Broken legs ,so learned to fly
Taking to the bitter dirt
I moved sluggishly on my stubby joints
Parting the mud between
the soul and body
when I grow up
I’ll fly ….
Thanks everyone the most comments on this poem.I’ll Fly, so much love…
Poetry PotLuck: I Love Lucille Clifton Homage to her Hips even though I am small frame I see my hips as magic too, and her words lift me… the power in a woman… Her Poem moves me to have that Self love talk in the Mirror hey “My life loves me”…
Homage to My Hips
BY LUCILLE CLIFTON
these hips are big hips
they need space to
move around in.
they don’t fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don’t like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top!
Lucille Clifton, “homage to my hips” from Good Woman. Copyright © 1987 by Lucille Clifton. Reprinted with the permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/179615
Her name was Queenie
I watched her,
swallow down her babies,
then I thought
A mother who consumes her young
Life is Crazy…
true story when I was a kid, My dog must have been sick or maybe the puppies…
Poetry challenge to write about an animal
Dear clutter, it’s been swell. Living underneath the piles of flimsy wash-cloths and moldy shelves.
I’ve tried, and you’ve lied, about the mess nobody makes.It takes courage to thoroughly clean,
Beneath basements and baseboards.
Look what we’ve become!
Shabby and raggedy,always nagging bout the times when you was as fine as oatmeal.
I’m not asking.Still my space..
She was not just a pretty orange to peel.Her vitamin c, drove back the mucus of icicles.
Hacking deeply like rusty faucets,
then yellow ,almost pasty clear.
She would not quit, come too far in the snow.
Open the oceans wide and you’ll find me.
In the arms of hope,
I’m finding my way to life….
She took her mind out for a short walk.Along the way,the left brain said to the right.
“They divided us and now we must work together!”
The shadows we boxed ,longing for stillness.Fragmented cavities of uncertainty.
Turning onto Cherry street; ant piles shaped the X sign on the sidewalk.
Little dirty children we use to be.Her spirit whistled like the wind.Her body found new land with skin and algae.Under holy waters she bathed daily.
Erupted tides of new beginnings.
Poet Krissy Mosley